


the distance is futile

by joonibles



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt, Other, i hate that mf /rp, i made this at 3 am in like 20 minutes sorry if it’s not amazing writing, it’s dream being a dick, i’m sorry for this btw, kind of a prediction of what may happen, not really any comfort, techno is Not having a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28213257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joonibles/pseuds/joonibles
Summary: Dream always manages to show up at the wrong time.“I’m afraid Tommy isn’t here.” Techno replies. Dream tilts his head like a puppy.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 162





	the distance is futile

**Author's Note:**

> TW/CW(?): nothing bad really happens. dream is just a manipulative person generally so a bit of a warning for that
> 
> this is all in terms of roleplay. im sure irl dream is lovely, but i would fist fight rp!dream in the back of a mcdonald’s parking lot if i had the chance. 
> 
> title is a line from wilbur’s song “since i saw vienna” (which i’m absolutely in love with if u haven’t listened please do his album is amazing)

Dream always manages to show up at the wrong time.

This time, the Chaos God comes at night, silent and deadly. Techno finds him on his porch, bright green hoodie looking neon against the pure white snow that cascades around him. That damned mask smiles at him.

“What are you doing here?” Techno asks abruptly, before Dream can even get a word in. Dream doesn’t startle, and he even chuckles at the accusing tone.

“I’ve come here to get something that’s mine.” He says, his stance nonchalant as ever, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. 

Techno instantly knows what Dream is talking about. His blood starts to bubble, and the voices get a little louder, but he keeps his face neutral, as if unamused by Dream’s antics. Which he truly is.

“I’m afraid Tommy isn’t here.” Techno replies. Dream tilts his head like a puppy.

“Oh? Is that so?” At the Blood God’s nod, Dream sighs dramatically. “Well, I guess I’ve come all the way out here for nothing. No Tommy, not at all! I guess I should just be on my merry little way.”

“You should.” 

Dream makes a show of turning away and making his way off of the porch, taking slow strides down the stairs. When his feet reach the bottom and Techno hears the audible crunch of snow, Dream pauses. 

“But, that just doesn’t add up.” 

Techno doesn’t say a word. He had been closing the door when Dream spoke up, having stopped half-way. 

“Cause… it seems like a little friend of yours slipped up.” Dream turns to him again, tapping at his mask as if in thought. “Ghostbur, right? Your… twin?”

His blood goes cold for a split second, and his hand closed around the doorknob starts to tremble. He’s unsure if it’s rage or something else. The voices reemerge at once, spitting words of venom towards the man in his yard. 

_ Kill him—blood for the Blood God—did he hurt Ghostbur—kill him—hurt him—is Ghostbur okay— _

Dream notices—of course he does. He lets out a happy laugh and practically skips up the stairs. 

“I haven’t done anything to your precious brother. You can’t really kill a dead person, can you? Certainly not.” The hooded man jokes, but Techno hears an underlying meaning in those words. Like an inside joke between Dream and Dream alone, one that he may soon be sharing with Techno.

“What do you want?” Techno asks, but it comes out as more of a snarl than anything. 

“To get something that’s mine.” Dream responds. “Tommy.”

The answer is immediate. “No.”

Dream is quiet for a second. It’s almost unnerving, not knowing what goes on behind that moronic mask he dons. Quiet is never good. And it isn’t pleasant for Techno, either, as the voices quickly make themselves known once more.

_ Protect Tommy—don’t let him in—KILL HIM—he hurt Tommy—get him away—Blood for the Blood God— _

Techno feels an ironic sense of relief when Dream groans. “He shouldn’t be here, Techno. He’s in exile.”

“I’m no part of L’Manberg. He isn’t limited to Logstedshire, Dream.”

“Oh, but he really is. I need to be keeping an eye on him. Tommy gets himself into a lot of trouble, and this whole exile is the consequences of his very immature actions.” Dream stops, and Techno can picture the sickly sweet smile behind that mask. “You agree, right, Techno?”

“You’ve done enough. Get off of my porch.” 

And that’s the end of the conversation for Techno. He moves to shut the door again when Dream appears only a few inches away, gripping the door so hard it nearly splinters. Techno doesn’t jump, but his eyes narrow. 

“You  _ owe _ me.” Dream hisses. 

Techno laughs in the God’s face. Dream flinches back at the noise, radiating frustration. Techno follows him, leaning down so they’re eye to eye—eye to mask. “Do I?”

He can visibly see the way Dream bristles. Techno holds back another bout of laughter. The voices seem to be cheering with him, with the occasional cry for Dream’s blood. Techno isn’t completely opposed to the idea, but he contains himself. Tommy is only a room or so away, sleeping peacefully. 

“Leave. Don’t come back.” Techno says with a firm glare, and then he backs away, standing tall once more.

When Dream says nothing, body shaking with unconcealed anger, Techno huffs and turns around and walks back inside the house. He spares one last glance at the pitiful God on his porch before going to shut the door. 

“Would you like to pass along a message?”

Techno resists the urge to let out an annoyed grunt. Dream just never stops, does he?

After a beat, he gives in. “For who?” 

“Philza.”

There’s a second of silence, with only the sound of biting wind and swaying trees. 

“What?” Techno whips around in an instance, eyes blazing as he stares at Dream. “What did you do to Phil?”

“Don’t worry, Daddy’s fine!” Dream laughs, and it seems as though all of his past anger has been extinguished, only to be replaced with giddy cockiness. 

This time, the voices are screeching. Their cries are jumbled and warped and nearly inaudible but he catches the words  _ Phil _ and  _ kill _ multiple times. It’s taking all the strength in his body to not comply.

“ _ What did you do _ ?” Techno seethes, and he makes his way back up to Dream. This time, he holds his ground, staring back up at Techno with an air of arrogance surrounding him. 

“He’s just on his own little vacation. In my prison.” Dream answers. 

“Your prison won’t hold him in.” Techno growls, and it makes his stomach turn at the uncertainness he feels in his own words. Philza can’t be held down by a simple prison—but Dream is nowhere near a simple person.

Dream seems to agree. “Normally. But this prison is a little special. Impossible to get out of—or in. At least, for anybody but me. So, strong ol’ Phil won’t be getting out of there anytime soon, and you won’t be getting in there either.”

Techno tries to calm himself. The fire that courses through his veins resembles lava, and for a second he thinks of how delicious Dream’s blood must be. How appetizing it would look staining his cabin floors, turning white snow a tainted red. 

But killing Dream wouldn’t get Phil out of that prison, if what he’s saying is true. Techno won’t be taking that chance. 

“What. Do. You. Want.” Techno’s hand is clenched so hard he feels the trinkle of his own blood. He knows that if he relaxes his arm it will hurl itself into that idiotic mask.

“I hate to repeat myself.” Dream complains, and Techno has to physically restrain his whole being from lunging at his throat. “I need Tommy.”

“You can't—“

“It’s Tommy or Phil, Techno.” Dream cuts him off, and his whole demeanor shifts, from light and teasing to grave and stern. “Choose.”

“I will gut you—“ Techno roars, and he reaches for his sword, but Dream just guffaws.

“Gutting me won’t do shit!” Dream giggles, and he clutches at his stomach from how hard he laughs. Techno goes still. “Gutting me won’t free Phil! The old man will just die alone and unwanted and unloved!” 

The floor creaks under Techno’s heavy body, shivering but not from the cold. Familiar fury encases him, but the unfamiliar feeling of fear makes his heart pound. 

For once, Techno feels small and vulnerable.

And Dream knows. 

The God turns around, treading down the stairs once more. As he goes, he calls over his shoulder, “Of course, I can just take a message along to Philza, and be on my way. I can keep him entertained for a while. He might not die completely alone.” 

Techno doesn’t know what to do. 

The voices are no help. They are just as torn as him. Some plead for Tommy’s safety, some bellow for Phil’s, and some just continue to scream for Dream’s life. 

**_Techno doesn’t know what to do._ **

As Dream makes his journey back through the snow, footsteps still distinct even as he gets a few feet away, Techno feels his chest start to constrict as he panics.

“Dream.” He says, voice weak and dim. Dream must hear him somehow (or he was waiting) as he stops and looks back to Techno. 

“Yes?” Techno can practically see the shit-eating smile that is stretched across Dream’s face. 

“The morning after tomorrow.” Dream quirks his head in question. Techno almost can’t get the words out, but he forces himself to continue. “Meet me here. I’ll have Tommy packed and ready to leave.” 

Dream doesn’t respond for a second. Then he lifts his mask up, just so Techno can see his mouth, and he is not surprised to see the exact smile he was imagining printed there. “That will do perfectly.”

“And Phil—“

“Phil will be freed and returned to you safely, after I retrieve Tommy.” Dream promises. Techno’s mouth feels dry, his tongue heavy, but a small hint of solace sprouts in his chest. 

Dream must see that there is nothing left to discuss, as he calls out a cheerful goodbye and vanishes with the next gust of falling snow. Leaving Techno alone, standing on his front porch, numb from the cold and the flurry of emotions that swirl inside of him.

In almost a daze, he returns inside the warmth of his home. He locks the door, checks it, and shoves off his robe and sword. He makes his way through the dimly lit house, weightless and weighty all at once. His feet take him to where Tommy is, curled up under thick blankets and snoring softly, in a state of tranquility. He watches him sleep, and something that feels so similar to  _ guilt _ stirs in his chest. 

The voices are quiet.


End file.
